


Interlude at Winter's End

by snarkydame



Category: Last Rune Series - Mark Anthony
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkydame/pseuds/snarkydame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Durge and Lady Beckett go for a ride at the end of winter.  Set several months before the beginning of the second book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude at Winter's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [threewalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/gifts).



> This might be as close to fluff as I get. Which was not really what I started out writing -- I think I just wanted to see Grace and Durge get the chance to be friends, without an emergency or a disaster hanging over their heads. I hope it didn't turn out too mundanely.

The wind was bitingly cold against his face, but the hungry chill of the winter was at last retreating. He could feel the weight of the sun on his mailed shoulders, hear the cheerful burble of snow melt along the sides of the road.

Blackalock's great hooves cracked through the glaze of fragile ice with every stride – mud caked the horse's legs to the knee, and spattered his own boots as well. He'd need to brush him down thoroughly once they reached Calavere.

He huffed a breath that hung like bright fog in the sunlight. The stables of King Boreas' keep were as familiar now as his own in Embarr – though at the thought he felt a twinge of guilt over his neglected home. No doubt the stables were in sad shape. He had meant to spend some time reinforcing the windbreak on the northern paddocks. Probably it was in complete disrepair by now. Not that the men he'd left in charge would have been slack in their duties, but things came up. It had been a harsh winter.

And, he mused, as Blackalock splashed through another growing puddle on the road, he should expect flooding soon. His fences would be washed away.

It would be too much to hope that his holdings would escape the wreckage of winter unscathed. He sighed, thinking of the damages.

But still, there was a small voice in the back of his mind saying, _Of course your stables are still standing. You put trustworthy men in charge of your lands._ The voice was calmly confident, sure in its logic.

Durge's mustache twitched, in what might have been a smile.

The voice sounded a bit like Lady Grace.

* * *

As the shadows lengthened and the light took on that deeper gold of a setting sun, he rode through the gates into the happy chaos of a busy court. Carts rumbled and creaked and slid in the mud. Stable boys ran nimbly alongside wheels as tall as they were, and dodged the kicks of horses made restless by the changing weather.

Blackalock snorted as one skipped past his nose, so covered in mud he seemed a part of the courtyard himself. Durge frowned. Surely the boy would be trampled by some charger less observant than his own.

He drew breath to call after him, but heard his name from the steps to the lower bailey.

"Sir Durge! How is the road?"

He smoothed a hand down Blackalock's bowed neck, and turned to see Lord Harfen.

"Not as bad as they will be, once the rest of the snow turns to mud. The roads will be unusable, if they don't wash away in the floods."

A small smile crossed the older man's face, but it was a brief one. He looked harried, overseeing the bustle of the courtyard with watchful eyes. "For all the mess, I am glad to see the mud. For a while there, I felt sure all I'd ever see was ice."

Durge nodded, feeling a shiver trying to work its way free, and an ache in his chest, where scars were still red on his skin. He suppressed it. The threat of the Pale King was not over, but at least for now, the gates were closed. There was time to breathe.

Lord Harfen shook himself. "But please, Sir Durge, let the men see to your charger. I have a favor to ask of you."

* * *

He saw to Blackalock himself, but he let the stable hands tend to the tack. He went to Lord Harfen with mud caked up his legs and spattered on his cloak – probably, he would be horribly offended and urge King Boreas to rethink his trade agreements with Embarr. Or he would be more offended if Durge took the time to wash and get clean garments before seeing what favor he wished to ask.

This way, at least, saved energy.

Lord Harfen was talking even as he opened the door. "Do you know, it's like a dam broke with the weather – everyone in Calavere has this surge of energy, and we're running out of space to spend it. King Boreas has driven three counselors into hiding, there are at least seven courtships going on among the younger members of the court, and the kitchens are an outright danger to go near, between the cooks' ladles and the spit boys running about." The lord paced back to his desk as Durge closed the door behind him.

He watched Harfen with interest. He had never been the most reserved of Boreas' lords, but he seemed almost garrulous now, hands waving as he paced.

"And the King has me training a palfrey for the Lady Beckett – it is an honour and a pleasure to do so, certainly – but I am to keep the mare a secret until spring, and the Lady keeps coming to the stables. Between running interference there, and dealing with my other duties in the keep, I find I'm running myself ragged. And here," he paused, gesturing towards Durge, "we come to my favor."

Durge simply nodded. Harfen was an honourable lord. He served King Boreas wholeheartedly. And if this favor was for the Lady Grace . . . there was no question there.

Lord Harfen's shoulders relaxed from their hunch. "The Lady Grace is more than capable of taking care of herself," he said, "and she is a fine rider. But though she is eager to explore the countryside, King Boreas is unwilling to allow her to go without escort. He values her safety. And if she must have an escort, she wishes it to be a knight she knows well."

Durge raised an eyebrow. "Her Radiance has the right to choose whatever escort she wishes. Though they should be the most trustworthy and capable men you have, to protect her against the brigands and fell beasts that haunt the countryside."

Lord Harfen smiled crookedly. "Yes, they should. And yes, she does. And she's asked for you, Sir Durge. I know you've only just returned from your trip, but the Lady's filly is being brought in from the King's fields tomorrow – he'll have my head if she sees her before he can present her in the spring. Please ride out with her tomorrow."

Durge blinked. "If she wants to ride out, I would want nothing more than to ride at her side. No matter how long I'd been traveling."

Harfen's smile widened. "Yes. I knew you'd say that."

* * *

She met him the next morning with a hug in the corridor, arms wrapped warm and tight around him. It still surprised him, how readily she gave her affection to one so old and worn as he.

"They only just told me you'd returned," she said, pleasure clear in her voice. "It is so good to see you."

"My Lady Grace," he said, "the honour's mine." It was simple truth, and he hoped she knew it.

She laughed, her marvelous green-gold eyes alight, and tucked her arm through his. "I hear you are to show me the countryside, sir knight. I hope it is not an imposition."

"Not at all, my lady. Though it will surely be a dangerous ride. They will no doubt be mudslides. We will lose our bags and be forced to forage for strips of bark in the woods."

"Nonsense, Durge, it will be lovely. The sun is bright, and Aryn tells me the songbirds are returning." She looked around at the stone walls – cold still, for all the tapestries. Her eyes darkened, as they paused on the doors to the great hall. "I must get out of these walls for a while, Durge. Aryn is nursing a slight cough, and Beltan has his duties with the Order. Falken and Melia have theirs as well." She paused, and firmed her jaw, looking at him. "It is so _good_ to have you with me."

Durge swallowed a lump in his throat. "My lady," he rumbled. "You will always have me at your side."

Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "My knight," she said, and tightened her hold on his arm.

* * *

After his long ride yesterday, Durge left Blackalock to his rest, giving the stable boys firm instructions to give him a good brushing both before and after they set him loose in his paddock. He chose a sturdy bay to ride himself, and a fine-limbed gray for Grace.

They dodged the morning bustle of the courtyard and quickly left the main road, choosing instead to take to the low rolling hills that surrounded Calavere.

The fields were covered in a patchwork of white and quickly spreading brown. It smelled of rich, wet earth, and Durge kept his thoughts firmly turned away from the stark memories of battlefields and graves that such a smell never failed to raise in him.

It was not hard. The sky was a brilliant, hard-edged blue, almost too bright to look at, and the snow that remained shone with a thousand reflected colors. Grace rode the eager gray with an ease that looked joyful, and her hair whipped in bright strands across her shoulders.

He pointed out the tracks of rabbits, and the foxes that followed them. She turned his attention to the broad winged hawk circling overhead. They spoke some of the world Grace had left behind – it was fascinating, full of machines he longed to get his hands on. He would enjoy finding out how they worked. And he told her of his struggles to store a certain volatile chemical safely – he'd lost three storage sheds before he found the right containment process.

The wide arch of the sky over empty, snow-patched fields made the conversation vaguely incongruous, but it was the most peace he'd felt in years.

* * *

It wasn't until late afternoon that he realized the wind was rising. It whistled through the damp grasses, an eery sound with the sun beginning to set.

"We should turn back, my lady," he said. "It is still punishingly cold at night."

"Yes," she agreed, reluctance in every line of her body. "Of course you're right."

"We could take the back way into Calavere," he offered. "So as not to see sights we've already seen."

She grinned at him. "Am I so obvious?" she asked.

Durge felt almost like smiling, though he kept the shameful frivolity to himself. "I would never say so, my lady."

* * *

The hills on this side of the castle were steeper, though not by much magnitude. More trees hugged their curves.

They saw deer, a large herd of them, that raised their heads as they rode by and then darted into the trees, white tails flashing.

"You should have headed this way on your way to Calavere," Grace said, "that night you found me instead of stag."

He raised an eyebrow. "I would rather have gone hungry that whole long winter, my Lady, than have missed finding you in the snow."

She ducked her head slightly, a small smile tilting her lips.

"My knight," he heard, barely audible over the whistling wind.

* * *

There was a small stream to cross, going this direction. Normally, it curled around a slight rise in the land with barely a ripple, running brown and green through a copse of trees; but the unusual amount of melting snow had filled it far beyond its usual capacity. It rushed past now, brown with silt, carving new banks in the mud where it undercut the old trees' roots. The trees themselves were green with moss – their bare branches hung low with half-melted snow.

Durge frowned at it. His borrowed bay eyed it sideways, and snorted wetly. "This seems a more treacherous crossing than usual."

"Should we cross farther downstream?" Grace asked.

Durge considered it, studying the roiling muddy waters. But finally he shook his head. "It gets deeper further on, and wider. The banks will be even more unstable without the trees to hold them together.

"And," he went on, "we'll be out long after dark if we turn back now. There will be wolves on the plain."

Grace gathered her reins with a firm nod of her head. "Then there's no use waiting around on this side of the water, is there?"

Durge set his horse after her. "I suppose King Boreas cannot have me executed for your loss if we both drown."

"Why Sir Knight," Grace looked back over her shoulder, eyes bright. "Was that a joke?" And her gray splashed into the stream.

* * *

The water went from the horses' hocks to their shoulders in less than a single plunging step. Durge's bay shuddered at the shock of it, and he saw Grace's shoulders tighten. The horses tossed their heads and balked, but Grace kept her gray firmly headed towards the far bank, and Durge kept his bay at the gelding's haunches.

He could feel the current pushing impatiently against them – froth curled and splashed around his waist. And then his bay lost contact with the stream bed.

For a moment, both he and his horse were under water. But he felt the surge of the bay's muscles as he began to swim, and then the bitter cold air on his wet skin.

He looked immediately for Grace – surely she'd been swept away – but found her just ahead still, her taller gelding handling the depth of the stream more easily. She was looking back in concern for him, jaw tight until he met her eyes.

A few more labored kicks, and his horse was following the gray up and over the far bank, both of them taking a bunching, sliding course up the muddy bank.

It was colder under the trees – bare as they were, they were thick enough to block even the fading warmth of the evening sun. They kept their horses moving, picking a cautious path around trees roots until they could make their way up the bare hill that backed the little wooded stream.

His cloak was heavy with water, and he wrung it out as best he could. He left it draped over his bay's haunches – the wet fabric was still thick enough to cut the wind. He noticed with approval that Lady Grace had done the same for her gray.

She smiled at him, still shivering. In the late sun, the dampened ends of her hair gleamed dark, and the wind had burned a flush on her cheeks.

His Fairy Queen did not look so otherworldly now, he thought, and felt the warmth of deep affection coil around his heart.

They rode side by side, close enough to touch. Grace noticed soon enough that he was keeping himself to the windward side, and frowned.

"Durge," she chided, "You're the one who went under. You're colder than I am."

He kept his teeth from chattering with an effort. The sun was barely over the horizon now, and held little warmth. "I am your Protector, my Lady." In all things. Against all threats.

But she firmed her shoulders and reined her gray around, coming up on her other side. "I insist," she said simply, and put a hand on his shoulder when he moved to object. "You are my friend. And I won't have you frozen on my account."

He turned his head , feeling an inexplicable urge to blush. "We will both die of exposure before we return to Calavere, I'm certain."

"Durge," she answered, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "It's not quite that cold."

* * *

They reached the castle gates just as the sun gave up on the day. The guards were pulling the gates closed as they went through, and King Boreas himself stood waiting on the steps to the upper bailey.

"I thought you'd been kidnapped by brigands," he boomed, "until I remembered that you had Lady Grace to protect you, Sir Durge."

"Indeed, your Majesty," he said, pulling his horse to a stop, "I am sure it was a possibility."

And both Grace and the King laughed, as stable hands took the reins of their horses, and servants met them with dry cloaks; but Durge took his saddle bags with steady hands, and did not smile, though he felt a lightness in his heart. He had not been joking, after all.

 

 _fin_


End file.
